CH- 33
CH- 33
Lorien POV
She’s gone.
The moment the gates closed behind her, something in me fractured. I didn’t show it—not in front of the others.
Not even Sebastian, who stood there with his arms crossed, staring after her like he still believed she’d turn around at the last second and prove us all wrong.
She didn’t.
And maybe that’s what scares me most.
Because something’s wrong.
I can feel it.
I can taste it—sharp and metallic, like blood on the edge of my tongue. It’s not just worry or regret; this isn’t about second-guessing her decision to leave.
This is deeper. Darker. A pull so strong it feels like gravity itself has shifted, dragging me toward an abyss I don’t understand but already fear.
My sigil burns low beneath my skin—not in heat, but in static. Faint, erratic sparks that crawl along my veins like insects under glass.
Like a faulty connection. Like the bond is short-circuiting. Every breath I take feels heavier now, as if the air itself resists filling my lungs without her here.
It flares when I think of her—a searing jolt that makes me clench my fists until my nails dig crescents into my palms. But when I reach for her—for any trace of her—it fades.
Just slips through my fingers like smoke, leaving nothing but emptiness where she used to be.
And when I close my eyes—
I see flashes.
Skin. Pale and unfamiliar, streaked with dirt or sweat—or worse. Hands that aren’t mine gripping tightly, trembling slightly, pressing against flesh too soft to belong to either of us. A mouth whispering her name—and it’s not mine.
I try to meditate. To push the visions away, to silence the chaos in my head and reclaim some semblance of control. I focus on my breathing—steady inhales, deliberate exhales—but it’s no use.
The harder I fight, the louder they become, the sharper the images cut through me. It’s like trying to hold back water with bare hands; the more I resist, the faster it seeps through, drowning me.
So I stop fighting.
And that’s when I see it.
Her.
Naked, vulnerable, but not weak—not her, never her. She moves with a kind of raw abandon that makes my chest tighten, my stomach twist into knots.
But she isn’t alone. And she sure as hell isn’t with Sebastian. Or me.
The man touching her… he’s not even fully human. His form shifts between shadow and silver, flickering like a broken signal, his presence both intoxicating and horrifying.
His voice fills the air around them, layered and deep, like thunder rolling over mountains, each word resonating in a language older than time itself.
Runes glow faintly along his fingers where they trace her skin—symbols I don’t recognize, marks that burn brighter with every touch.
And worst of all—
She lets him.
I bolt upright, heart hammering so hard it feels like it’s trying to punch its way out of my chest.
My hands tremble as I shove the tangled sheets aside, and for a moment, the room spins around me—whether from anger or exhaustion, I can’t tell anymore. But one thing is clear: I’m done being lied to.
“Enough,” I snarl, my voice slicing through the suffocating silence like a blade. The word hangs there, sharp and final, echoing off the stone walls as if even they’re afraid to defy me.
The air crackles with tension as I stride toward the door, each step deliberate, fueled by a rage that’s been simmering beneath the surface for days—weeks, maybe longer. It’s not just frustration; it’s betrayal. And now, it’s boiling over.
The walls of my quarters seem to close in on me as I yank the heavy wooden door open, the hinges groaning in protest. I don’t look back. I don’t hesitate.
Every instinct screams at me to keep moving, to confront the person who’s held the truth just out of reach while I’ve stumbled blindly through this nightmare.
It doesn’t matter that it’s the middle of Blood Moon Week—the one time of year when everyone’s too busy whispering prayers or plotting mischief to pay attention to anything else.
It doesn’t matter that the Headmistress is likely holed up in some secret Council meeting, surrounded by her coven of sycophants and shadows. None of that matters.
Because she knew. All along, she knew—and she said nothing.
\===========
The Headmistress waits in her study, swirling blood in a crystal goblet like she’s been expecting me.
I don’t knock.
“You sent her away,” I bite.
“She was requested by her guardian,” she says smoothly. “We don’t reject verified bloodline claims.”
“Lysandra Vale is a puppet.” I step closer. “And you knew that.”
She raises a brow. “Careful.”
“I’m past careful,” I growl. “You knew Aria wasn’t just a girl. You knew what was inside her. And now it’s waking up.”
The Headmistress doesn’t deny it.
Instead, she says softly, “Do you know how many humans have survived the Claiming of Three?”
I freeze.
She continues. “None.”
I don’t wait for more.
My feet carry me to the Hall of Mirrors—forbidden to students during Blood Moon Week, but I’m not in the mood to follow rules.
The mirrors whisper as I pass.
Not words. Not names.
Feelings.
Lust. Hunger. Jealousy.
Until one mirror doesn’t whisper at all—it screams.
I stop. Look in.
And the vision nearly drops me to my knees.
Aria.
Laid bare. Skin glistening with sweat.
Her wrists glowing with silver cords.
Her eyes roll back as someone’s mouth moves down her inner thigh.
My name on her lips? No.
Another.
One I’ve never heard. One the bond doesn't recognize—because it’s not part of us.
And in the reflection, I see myself watching.
Unmoving.
Useless.
I punch the mirror.
It cracks. My fist bleeds.
And that’s when it hits.
The pain.
Like knives from the inside out.
My sigil pulses once—then goes dark.
I collapse.
The floor comes fast and unforgiving. My body seizes, muscles locking.
I see her again—but this time, she’s reaching for someone else’s hand.
And that someone is reaching back.
A bond is being formed.
Without me.
The last thing I hear before blacking out is a voice I’ve never heard—but one that speaks directly to my blood:
“She was never yours to begin with.”
What does this mean?